


Catching fire

by Black_Teapot



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Burns, Fear, Fire, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Kind of a bittersweet ending?, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Minor Character Death, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, People burned alive, People panicking and its consequences, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22463377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Teapot/pseuds/Black_Teapot
Summary: Obi-Wan discovered a whole new kind of fear in a bazaar catching fire.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	Catching fire

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very glad to post this fanfic. I'm an anxious person and I have a collection of fears since I was a child. Fire is one of them. This story was really born from my guts and fears -during a difficult period because I'm recovering from surgery. It's difficult to leave a fear totally behind, but they are ways to be more in control and to live with them.
> 
> So I want to dedicate this story to all the persons who fight their fears every day. You're stronger than you could ever imagine.

Obi-Wan didn’t understand how the situation could have gone so bad so suddenly. Thirty minutes ago his Master and he were sitting across the negotiations’ table to quell the dissension in the planet’s government. The monarchy had to lead the population with the elected Prime Minister. But the new woman named to this office was the head of a socialist party which didn’t agree at all with the Crown’s policy. The tensions were so high the Jedi had been called to help them to find some common ground. The life on this recently industrialized planet was already difficult without any quarrel from the leaders.

After a rather fruitless afternoon which left every party frustrated the Jedi were invited to spend some time during the evening at the Bazaar. Situated in the capital’s centre, it was considered by the citizens as the heart of the culture and the traditional way of living in Aamarsi.  
Factories and productivity innovations became a heavyweight since the industrial revolution had begun twenty-five years ago. The consequences of all these changes had been the weakening of the local culture –which they had been trying to put forward again. The restoration of the Bazaar had been the first step of this political turn.

Obi-Wan had been amazed by the place. The tall walls were made up of old red and sandy stoned polished by the years, crowned by a flat wooden ceiling. Once inside, it was easy to feel an intimate connection with the building and its dwellers; the aisles were narrows and twisted, lighted by blue glass oil lamps and filled with many colourful stalls. Qui-Gon had been interested in the spices and the ornaments made of plaited red plants. The auburn hair boy had preferred the metalwork. At fifteen the apprentice had seen slick silver spaceships and armours in durasteel. But never had he observed such beautiful orange alloy, carved and inlaid with pale gems or golden wires.

Numerous people were exploring the shops, clothed with layers and layers of tissue. The social rank of the citizen was demonstrated by the amount and the precocity of textiles they were wearing. The King was therefore covered from hair to toes, with very little skin showing through.  
Those precious fabrics, for which Aamarsi was well-known, were also exposed on the ceiling, creating a mosaic of colours delimited by the wooden beams.

Obi-Wan was bantering with his Master, regretting his very meagre reserve of money, when he heard it. A faceless scream.

“For a new and better Aamarsi!”

There was one second of silence, followed by a terrible explosion. The Padawan was projected on the ground, felt his eyes close and his eardrums pop.  
When he was able to stand up again, it was amid pandemonium.

He could hear people crying, out of fear or out of pain. Smoke and dust were obscuring the view. Obi-Wan turned his head to find the reassuring form of his Master and saw him lean on a stall. Some drops of blood were rolling on his forehead, standing out against his grit-covered skin. The boy opened his mouth to speak but interrupted by a frantic man shoving him aside.

He turned around to admonish him but was unable to as he quickly found himself caught in the middle of a frenzied stampede. People were rushing from the middle of the Bazaar toward the exit, blood on their face, bulging eyes and lips twisted in fear.

Obi-Wan tried to fall back on the side of the aisle, navigating inside this sea of desperate persons. But he was smaller than most of them, disoriented by the explosion and the ringing noise messing with his hearing. A sour panic started to invade him as he was pushed around, legs trembling. He tried to find again his Master’s face in the crowd, recognizing none of the visages hurrying towards him. Then a tall man with a strange hat knock him in the temple with his elbow and he fell on the ground.

Facing the ceiling, he had two seconds to see flames eating the wooden beams and the tissues, a fire spreading fast one meter above their head.  
Then the first boot hit him in the ribs and he curled up to the best of his abilities as people continue to rush forward, trampling those who were on the floor. The situation was unreal at best. Obi-Wan was now confronted to a blind panic binding his thoughts. He was a Jedi who could feel the Force and wield it to help other people, to serve the Republic. But the Force was of no use facing this stampede; it couldn’t reason with hundreds of desperate men and women fleeing for their life.

The Padawan became short-breathed and through his half-opened eyes, he could see a young girl fell, fifty centimetres to his right. She had to be almost the same age as him. The green cloth covering her hair was untied by the first foot striking her face. Her hair was blond as they spread out on the ground.

Someone stepped on his stomach and the apprentice cried when his left hand was crushed.

Stars, he was going to die here, under all those persons. He couldn’t breathe. Oh stars, please!

“Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan?” Someone was calling his name. “Obi-Wan!”

He saw big arms at the end of his vision’s field, moving people aside. Hands went down on him, gripping his armpits and pulling him up.

“Padawan! Obi-Wan, can you hear me?”

The tall man shifted them to have his back turned to the stampede, shielding the teenager against a tincture shop. Large palms cradled his face, the digits caressing his bloody skin.

“Breathe Padawan, breathe.”

The apprentice inhaled with difficulties, his torso and throat painful, heartbeat still fast with panic.

“You’re doing great.”

Obi-Wan rose his head to meet his gaze and found comfort in his Master’s well-known features. The man seemed deeply worried, eyebrow frowned and eyes shining. His hands were moving on his body to evaluate his injuries.

“We have to help everyone to get out and leave; I’ll be able to take care of your wounds after this.” His tone was serious and his gaze was observing on the apprentice’s reactions to be sure he was understood. “If you feel too bad, if something hurts too much, I want you to tell me immediately. More hands will be helpful to contain the situation but it doesn’t have to be at your expend.”

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement and regretted it when his head protested vigorously. Qui-Gon bent to kiss his forehead, closing his eyes for a second. Then he put his hand on his apprentice’s back, guiding him toward the heart of the explosion.

Moving against the current was nearly impossible. But with Qui-Gon’s height and build they manage to reach the middle of the Bazaar, almost deserted. The Padawan had already experienced various difficult situations. But nothing could have prepared him to this.  
The smoke was heavier, obscuring their sights. The stalls devastated by the explosion were burning and the floor was covered by a thin layer of ashes. A dozen people were lying on the floor, their butchered bodies covered in blood. There was nothing left to do; they had been killed by the blast. But more frightening were the persons still standing. More than twenty figures were dancing and screaming, blazing like torches. Obi-Wan quickly realized, horrified, that the numerous layers of clothes the locals wore feeding the flames.

Qui-Gon reacted promptly, tearing off a long woollen fabric from a surviving shop and rushing toward one of them. He enveloped them, guiding them on the floor to stave off the fire. The apprentice tried to imitate his Master, but a bad feeling was hindering his actions. Dizzy with the smoke and his injuries, he attempted to set it aside and ripped a big piece of sheet. Someone fell before him, their terrible howl twisting and hurting his insides. Obi-Wan ran to them, his hands trembling as he covered their body. Even with his use of the Force to contain the oxygen the fire took nearly a terrible minute to be definitely put off. The moans and shouts never stopped and a horrid odour of charred flesh filled his nostrils. The Padawan lowered the burned fabric to have a better appreciation of the victim’s state. He saw raw muscles, burned flesh turned black or white, an unrecognizable face. The teenager turned his head and vomited on the floor.

Qui-Gon must have sensed it because he moved all his attention toward him. His gaze searched for something on his face and he settled on giving him a grim smile. Obi-Wan felt through the Force his Master’s essence providing him energy and courage to continue to face this situation. The tall man looked bleakly at the people dying around them and frowned. His apprentice recognized this expression immediately: it indicated that he was ready to take a hard decision which he would have prefered not to make.

“We should take them to healers outside of the Bazaar. If we stay longer here they may die of their burns. And I’m not sure we can do something for the others.”

The screaming candles were indeed slowly fading, falling on the floor and quietening. Obi-Wan turned away from them, bile still sharp in his mouth, and used the Force to carry the injured person he was in charge of with as little damages as he could. He was limping and his left hand wasn’t responding correctly to his solicitation. But he had to go on; a life was depending on him.

Qui-Gon followed him, the Force connection still active between them. But the bad feeling was invading him again. Something was going to happen. Stars, something _more_ was happening!

“Master, I sense it…”

The tall man eyes focused on him again as it occurred. The ceiling, terribly inflammable ceiling composed of wood and tissues, started to fall down on the livings. Terrified screams invaded the destroyed edifice, the people still inside becoming prey to the flames.

The same realisation grew in their eyes. There was no time: a new exit had to be made to evacuate everyone.

Master and Padawan concentrated all their attention to the stone wall on the side, at a reasonable distance to the locals. And once prepared, they pushed it with their mind.  
A big hole was created in a deafening uproar.

“Come to us, there’s a way out of the Bazaar here!” The strong voice of Qui-Gon covered the cries and the shouts.

People, injured or not, began to flee in their direction. Encourage by a look from his Master, Obi-Wan left too, crossing-over the collapsed wall. The air outside seemed already cooler and easier to breathe. The Padawan inspired profoundly, closing his eyes one second. Then he strayed from the opening to find a quieter place and look at his patient. He lied them gently on the floor and uncovered their face, a piece of cloth placed here before to protect their lungs from the smoke. The victim didn’t react to his gesture. Alarmed, he put one hand before their nose and mouth to feel their breath, the other on the injured skin of their neck to measure the pulse. After a minute he das to resign himself to recognize there were none. They had died of their burns during the exit and he hadn’t felt anything.

His throat contracted and he felt tears coming, helpless to stop them. He stood there on his knees, all his body shaking until a large and well-known palm caressed his back. His Master embraced him from behind, letting him weep on his dusty shoulder.

It’s not because you’re a Jedi that you can save everyone.

* * *

“King Narsi, Queen Marni. Prime Minister Larna. I’m surprised and grateful to find you all in the Council Chamber.” The Master Jedi’s voice was still a bit irritated by the smoke.

“You mean that you’re surprised to see us in the same room without pulling our hair out.” The cutting humour of the middle-age elected woman made him smile.

“This night’s events made us reconsider our view on this political cohabitation.” Explicated the Queen. “An extremist groupuscule has already claimed responsibility for the Bazaar’s attack. Their political view reflected everything we wanted to fight: they see modernisation as a way to erase our traditions, to create a more unified planet without conserving our diversity traditions. They claim these differences are weakness and divide us. Let’s prove them these are also our identity, our history and a source of strength. This planet needs some modernity and someone who can guide us through it without scarifying our traditions. Maybe Prime Minister Larna could be this person.”

“Where is your apprentice, Master Jinn?” Asked the King. “We would like to thank him for his actions.”

“I’ve put him in a healing trance. He needs time to recover from all of this.”

“I understand. I hope he’ll feel better soon. You can go back to Coruscant with him; your help has been precious but there’s little to do now, except heal and rest.”

“I hope you’ll find the middle-ground you’re searching for.” The Jedi bowed before them. “King Narsi, Queen Marni. Prime Minister Larna.”

“We wish you a safe ride home, Master Jinn.”

* * *

The spaceship was dark and cold. Lying on his rollaway bed Obi-Wan was staring at the ceiling. He was unable to sleep. The images of the Bazaar were turning in his head. The melted flesh, the screams, the smoke… How could he relax after all of this?

His Master had taken an hour with him once in the ship to heal his injuries. His left hand was now bandaged, as was his head. The touch provided by those careful hands was almost enough to make him cry again. He was fifteen but he felt like a little kid, waiting alone in the dark for the monsters to feast on him.

The door to the sleeping room opened. A ray of artificial light brightened the tight space. Obi-Wan leaned on his elbows and saw Qui-Gon’s tall figure standing at the doorstep.

“Do you want to meditate with me, my Padawan?”

The apprentice stood up in his sleeping tunic, pale and withdrawn, hair tangled up.

“Yes, I would like it, Master.”

He walked silently toward the adult who had chosen to guide him to his knighthood. They sat cross-legged on Qui-Gin’s mat, facing each other.

“I suggest you reach for me with the Force. We’ll work on our feeling during this attack.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against his better wishes, breathed out and let himself flow with the Force. He searched for his Master’s calm and powerful presence and shuddered of relief when he felt it around him.

Nothing bad could happen to him when his Master was with him.

The apprentice sensed the tall man’s affection and humour as the Jedi perceived his thoughts. Then the seriousness of the situation got the upper hand and they started to sink deeper in themselves. Only by facing their fears could they hope to overcome them.

Obi-wan exposed his helplessness, which seemed to be the connecting thread of this day: during the explosion, under the feet of the frantic people trampling him, facing these terrible deaths.

He didn’t think a Knight would have felt so powerless. He could have been better, faster, more efficient -and should have been all of that if he deserved the title of Jedi.

Qui-Gon let him feel all these realisations before he opened himself and showed him his memories. Obi-Wan started to feel weird and realised he was now barely standing upright, leaning on a small shop. He was shocked by the explosion and had difficulties to regain his equilibrium. He could see his apprentice just before him, eyes open wide. Then the locals started to scream and run toward the exit. His apprentice was dragged along by the crowd. He seemed so small, lost between them. And he fell. The moment was terrible. His Padawan was on the ground and he couldn’t see him and people kept moving forward it’s terrible they can’t do that to his Padawan he won’t be able to breathe… Helplessness invaded him and he started to push through the crowd, his right ankle shaking at each step. He had to find his Padawan…

The overwhelming feelings blurred before they disappeared. Obi-Wan’s eyes were closed. He was still in meditation, his Master’s essence all around him. To give him strength and comfort, but apparently also to reassure himself. The experience was mind-opening. Qui-Gon had been scared, too. He knew how powerlessness felt.

“Of course I was scared. Events like these don’t get any easier. When I was your age Master Dooku and I went for a mission on Mon Cala. It was supposed to be fairly simple, a diplomatic meeting to establish new trade roads. You surely know their cities are underwater as the Mon Calamari are amphibians. I was sitting near a transparisteel bay window when it exploded. The building was new and had a structural defect. I was injured and the strong currents dragged me in deep-water. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t use the Force to help me. I was sure I would drown.  
Master Dooku and the security chief saved me. But since that day I’ve been afraid of deep-water.”

“How did you overcome it?”

“I don’t. Or more precisely I did not totally overcome it. I worked on this fear with my Master; he found tutors to teach me advanced knowledge of the sea and learned new swimming or free-diving techniques. I’m still scared but I can cope with it. We could try to do something similar once home. Do you feel ready to sleep?”

The last sentence sent ice in Obi-Wan’s veins. His stomach seemed to flip. Qui-Gon must have seen something on his face because he continued to speak as if he didn’t need the answer to that question.

“My cabin is a bit larger than yours. You can bring your rolling bed here; at least we’ll be less cold.”

The young apprentice swallowed his saliva and nodded, finding himself without words but full of gratitude. His Master always seemed to know how to help him. He went back to his little closet to take his belongings, walking barefoot on the freezing durasteel. His heart was beating very fast until he saw again the door leading to the tall man’s room. He opened it carefully to find that all the lights were off. The Padawan squinted and recognized Qui-Gon’s sleeping figure at his left. His Master was already resting.

This sight filled him with new confidence and he felt his soul warm with affection. As silently as possible he unfurled his rolling bed and pushed it against the other. He lied down and smiled a bit; he could feel some of the long hair of his mentor tickling his face. His Master’s presence around him, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and knew that he would find sleep again.

* * *

“Anakin! What did you do?!”

“It’s nothing I swear! Just… Why did this alarm start to rung? It’s too loud. Make it shut up!”

“Because it’s a fire alarm! It’s doing its job, which is informing me when something is burning in my apartment!”

“But I have all under control!”

“Don’t make me repeat myself Padawan. Step aside. I have a fire extinguisher.”

“No, you’ll destroy the droid’s parts if you do that…” PSHHHHH “Well. It’s too late now.”

“And my living-room isn’t on fire anymore.”

Anakin sighed noisily, looking sadly to his last mechanical project covered by white foam. His long padawan braid was in disarray and he had black spots of oil on his cheeks.

“Just… Where did you find this fire extinguisher? And why do you have this alarm?”

“There were gifts offered by Qui-Gon.”

The apprentice turned to look at his mentor. Every mention of the Jedi Master who saved him from slavery was absorbed with a strange kind of hunger. His eyes shone a little as he asked for more precisions.

“Qui-Gon?”

“Yes. We had a difficult mission when I was young. Something terrible. A building burned down and a lot of people died. I needed time to recover and learn how to control my fear.”

“Your fear?” The seventeen-years-old seemed surprised.

“Do you think I have none?” Obi-Wan laughed a little. “I have a fair share of fears.”

“And fire is one of them?” Ventured Anakin.

“Yes. When you see some things…” The Jedi Knight sat on the couch. “Fire is particularly destructive. It’s not like water or earthquakes. Things are not broken or only damaged. They are annihilated. Deformed. Twisted. People and belongings are blacked and distorted. Flesh and duraplast melt.” He frowned and inspire profoundly to stay calm. “The code said that there is no ignorance, there is knowledge. Remember this, my very young apprentice: it’s easier to control your fears when you try to acknowledge and understand them. Every Jedi have fears; it’s only natural. But we take measures not to give them too much power on us.”

“That’s why Qui-Gon offered you a fire alarm?”

“Yes. We configured it together to reassure me. It’s a way to avoid nightmares. I’d know immediately if something started to burn here. Like it did earlier.” The dry look his Master gave him made Anakin smile.

“We took a few weeks off. Some adjustments had to be made; I couldn’t eat cooked meat for almost a month.” The questioning look of his Padawan prompted him to clarify his thoughts. “The smell of cooked meat is remarkably similar to the odour of charred flesh. Qui-Gon also supervised some session with a Mind Healer. I didn’t really like it at the time, but I’m grateful now.”

“I would have like to have more time with him.” The teenager’s voice was soft and he didn’t seem to be able to look at him in the eyes.

“Me too.” His throat hurt, clench tight. “There’s never enough time.”

A silence loaded with dull pain, emptiness and memories stretched in the room. Then Anakin stretched his ridiculously long arms toward the alarm. He looked at it attentively and went back to the couch, sitting sideways.

“If you want, we could work again on your alarm. I’ve already seen this model and I have some ameliorations in mind. Would you like that?” His tone was tentative.

“Yes, I think it would be great.”

His Padawan smiled- a big toothy thing eating his face and his cheeks.  
Yes, Qui-Gon was gone and he had no Master now to guide him through the darkest moments of his life. But he had found Anakin, and his presence gave him hope for a better future. He was sure that by his side he would never have to fear fire again.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave a kudo or a comment, even short, if you liked this work!


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